


Not So Usual

by osaki_nana_707



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaki_nana_707/pseuds/osaki_nana_707
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of <a href="http://harlequincepted.livejournal.com/11633.html?thread=155249#t155249">this prompt</a> on the Love Fest. In which Eames finds out that Arthur's a slob, a stoner, and a fan of cartoons, and a lot of other stuff all in one evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Usual

Not So Usual

"Sorry about the mess," Arthur mumbled, turning the lock on the door of apartment 724.

Surprisingly, Arthur wasn't kidding. The place was a pigsty: papers scattered along every surface, boxes of empty Chinese take-out stacked about, a pile of clothes in the corner… There was a large pizza box wide open on the coffee table with only a grease stain on the cardboard left inside and crumbs on the carpet underneath. The sink was piled high with cereal bowls and pots and pans. A thin sheet of dust covered Arthur's stereo, television, and bookshelves, where everything appeared to have been haphazardly thrown rather than organized. There were muddy footprints on the carpet by the door.

"Wow," Eames said, nearly dropping his suitcase. "…Wow."

"I didn't have time to clean," Arthur grumbled, unknotting the tie from his neck. "Your little phone call came kind of suddenly."

"I appreciate you supplying me with a hiding place, but… Wow. Bleeding Christ, Arthur, I had no idea you were such a slob."

"It's normally not this bad, I swear!" Arthur complained, tossing his jacket and tie over an arm of the couch. "I've been on a job. I was focused on my work. I didn't have time." He paced across the floor in socked feet into the kitchen area and cracked open the fridge, snagging two cans of beer and placing them on the counter before digging out two cans from his pantry and cracking open the easy-open tops. Eames watched as he poured some kind of noodle and sauce concoction into a dish he grabbed out of the dish strainer that appeared to already be dry (and probably had been for a long time).

"What is that, exactly?" Eames asked, pointing.

"Dinner," Arthur replied irritably, almost embarrassedly. "I haven't had time to grocery shop, so all I've got left is Chef Boyardee."

"I don't know what that is…" Eames said, but Arthur didn't seem to be interested in elaborating other than to ask if he'd rather have the Beefaroni or the Spaghetti-o's. All Eames could do was shrug because he didn't know what either of those things were either and went searching curiously around the cluttered mess that was Arthur's apartment.

Now, he'd known Arthur professionally for years, but now, amongst Arthur's dirt and half-drunk cold coffee cups, he felt like everything he knew was a lie. He looked back at Arthur, just as the pointman freed a third button from his already untucked shirt, waiting on the microwave to beep, and Eames _knew_ that he knew nothing about Arthur for real.

Arthur turned then, disgruntled. "What?"

He didn't want to tell Arthur about his moral dilemma, curling his fingers around his totem in his pocket as casually as possible to make sure it was reality (It was). Instead, he gestured to the empty pizza box. "Did you have company?"

Arthur blinked. "No."

Eames's eyebrows raised. "You ate the whole bloody pizza by yourself?"

Arthur shrugged, removing one microwaved meal and starting to cook the second one. "I was hungry."

To not deal with the baffling response, Eames went snooping through Arthur's CD collection. It only raised more questions, specifically, with mild mortification, "Why do you have a Justin Timberlake album?"

"Phillipa gave that to me for my birthday," Arthur explained simply.

Eames snorted.

"She's _six_ , Eames."

"Why didn't you just toss it out?"

"What if Cobb brought her here and she wanted to listen to it? I didn't want to hurt her feelings."

"I don't think there's anything to worry about there. I don't think Cobb would bring his children to this biohazard."

Arthur huffed. "Would you rather stay somewhere else? I could have just left you stranded at the airport, you know."

"I'm eternally grateful, I am, but—" he paused, eyes widening as he opened the stereo in search of evidence that Arthur actually liked foofy pop music, finding not a cassette tape in the cassette player, but a plastic bag.

…a plastic bag full of weed no less.

"Well," Eames said, lifting it up to look at it in the light because _really_? Arthur smoked weed? _Arthur_? "I guess this explains the pizza."

Arthur blushed a little, opening the microwave and grabbing the dish by the handle before carrying them both over to the coffee table with spoons held between his teeth. He carried the beers between his armpits with absolutely no shame. Once he'd sat down and removed the utensils from his mouth, he attempted to explain. "What? Don't get all self-righteous on me now, Eames. You can't tell me you've never—"

"That's not it at all," Eames replied, taking a seat next to him and stirring at the odd microwaved noodles he was apparently supposed to eat. "I just never expected that _you_ —"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What did you think I was like?"

Eames shrugged because the truth was, he'd just assumed Arthur was the same at work as he was at home and frankly, that was stupid to assume. Eames knew he was a lot different when he was at home, generally choosing to loaf about in wife-beaters and jeans and baby-talk at his dogs between episodes of _Law and Order: SVU_ or _Doctor Who_ (depending on where he was). Why would Arthur have been organized and tidy and dressed in collared shirts when he didn't have to be?

Okay, that didn't make it any less _weird_.

"Whatever," Arthur sighed when Eames didn't answer, hopping up and grabbing a DVD box off of the top of his television. "I'm watching DBZ, and you can go fuck yourself."

"The fuck is DBZ?"

Arthur turned then, nostrils flaring, forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious?" he asked. "Were you living under a rock for the entirety of the nineties? Jeez… how about you roll one, and I'll show you."

So Eames did. After all, it would have been rude not to, being that he was a guest and all.

For the first few minutes, Eames was confused that _Arthur_ liked cartoons. After the weed kicked in, he forgot about that. "This is the best show ever," Eames said hazily, passing the joint to Arthur who was drinking the sauce out of the bottom of his bowl.

"I know. I'd lend you the DVDs, but I borrowed these from Ariadne. She has like… the whole set and all of the manga too. It's really awesome. Normally I watch it in Japanese with subtitles."

"I have no idea what's going on, but it's bloody brilliant," Eames replied. He wondered how good the show was sober, but he didn't care enough to find out. He did care enough to check his totem again.

Arthur inhaled and passed the joint back, coughing a little and proceeded to explain what was going on to Eames. He still didn't get it but just nodded and agreed.

"You've got sauce on the corner of your mouth," Eames said, laughing because it was funnier than it should have been.

Arthur proceeded to obscenely _lick_ it from the corner, and Eames had to check his totem for the third time because _my_ , Arthur was looking attractive that evening. His eyes were red-rimmed from the pot, his smile lazy and unhidden, dimples shining unashamedly on each cheek, and on top of all that he was quite nearly _disheveled_ with his hair falling out of its fine coif every time he scratched his head or ran his fingers over it… that and, well, it seemed that he'd been slowly discarding all of his clothing since they'd gotten there. He was actually removing his button-down at that moment, stripped down to his finely fitting trousers and his undershirt… his tight, _tight_ undershirt.

"Did I get it?" Arthur asked.

Eames had to swallow heavily before answering. "Ah… yes. You're good, ahm… yeah."

Arthur smiled, and he actually _scrunched up his nose_. Eames had to dig his nails into his knee. "I'm gonna get more beer," Arthur said, hopping up and languidly crossing to the refrigerator and grabbing the rest of the six pack out from inside. "You know, I was really agitated when I had to drive to the airport to come get you and all that, but it's actually kinda nice to have someone to smoke and drink with. It's always kinda lonely and pathetic when you do it by yourself."

Eames accepted a beer and tried to focus on the screen. "This is a piss poor excuse for alcohol, by the way," he mumbled. "You Americans are complete lightweights."

"I know, it _blows_ ," Arthur groaned, head rolling back to touch the cushioning of the couch behind him, showing off that long neck of his. "I can't even get drunk off of this shit anymore, but it's cheap and it's available."

"Like prostitutes," Eames said, grinning and…

Holy shit, was Arthur _laughing_?

He was. He was _wheezing_ he was laughing so hard and smacking his knee.

 _I kind of want to kiss him_ , Eames thought, and that was a bit troublesome of a thought. He'd always known that Arthur was pretty good-looking (okay, that was an understatement), but he'd never thought of going any further than teasing and the occasional subtle flirt. Arthur had seemed too serious, too consumed in his work to be any kind of good time in reality. He'd tried out hooking up with people like Arthur in the past, and they'd always been shitty in bed and bitchy all the rest of the time…

…but Arthur wasn't anything like he thought. His skills as a forger normally made him so good at reading people. This was just _shameful_.

Seriously though, who would have seen this coming?

Arthur wiped away tears of mirth, sighing peacefully. "I haven't laughed like that in forever. It's a shame you're not as funny when I'm not high."

"I am _perfectly_ funny, darling. You're just a stick in the mud when you're sober."

Arthur rested his head on the shoulder nearest Eames, smiling still. "I just try to be professional at work. I don't smoke or drink until the job is over, and I'm not a fan of fooling around when I'm trying to get shit done, y'know? I think it actually helps me appreciate the time off more."

"I guess I can understand that," Eames said, and he really felt like he was talking to Arthur for the first time.

"It gets kind of lonely sometimes though. I don't have many friends outside of work… Actually, I don't really have _any_ friends outside of work. I don't trust a lot of the friends I have, so I can't let my guard down around them. It might not even be wise to let my guard down around you, but, well… it's a little late for that now, I guess."

 _I kind of_ _ **really**_ _want to kiss him_ , Eames thought in wonder. He'd never seen the pointman be vulnerable before. It was lovely on him… Then again, he had such a lovely face that anything would really look good on him.

"Oh, hey," Arthur said, blinking crookedly. "Who do you think would win in a fight? Batman or Superman?"

Eames wasn't really sure how Arthur had pulled that question out of his ass but tried to answer anyway. "Ah… it depends. Does Batman have kryptonite on his person?"

"Well, Batman's prepared for everything, so yes," Arthur replied.

"Well then, it's Batman, no question."

"It would have been Batman with or without the kryptonite though," Arthur replied, lifting the joint to his mouth in satisfaction. "Superman sucks. He's such a tool. Batman… is the _shit_ , Eames. Seriously. He proves that you don't need powers to be a superhero. All you need is money and a mission. That's all you fucking need."

Eames clacked his can against Arthur's can in a toast to the fictional superhero. "You are a _sight_ , Arthur. Did you know that?" Eames said, unable to help himself, because maybe he was feeling a little unguarded too. "I felt like I had you pegged before, but I was just… completely off-base. I apologize for making assumptions about you. You're quite the charming individual, and you curse like a bloody sailor. You're _fun_ , darling."

"Thanks, I guess," Arthur said, sipping at his beer. "I mean, if you think watching cartoons and smoking weed and drinking this poor excuse for beer is fun, then I'm glad I could help you out."

"What, you're not having fun?" Eames asked, taking a chance and nudging himself a little closer. Arthur didn't notice, even when Eames tossed his arm over the back of the couch, hand lingering just by Arthur's pretty neck.

"No, actually, I am," Arthur admitted, and he was scrunching his nose up again. "It's cool to not be stuck doing this shit by myself like some kind of loser, but I mean… most people would think this is boring as shit. Most people would rather be out at the clubs dancing and hooking up with chicks and shit like that."

"Arthur," Eames said seriously. "I am thirty years old. If I went to the clubs, I'd be the weird old guy that everyone would think was so-and-so's _father_."

…and Arthur laughed again, and he grunted like a pig in the middle of it which made him laugh more and made Eames laugh too.

"You don't look that old," Arthur assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Eames couldn't help but think he'd like to put his fingers in his mouth. "All you'd have to do was talk and you'd have all the girls up on you, what with the accent and all that."

"I'm from England. I don't have an accent. You do," Eames replied. "Besides, girls aren't really what I'm looking for."

Arthur chugged the last of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I thought you played for both teams."

"I do," Eames shrugged, "but the blokes are more my style. Women are too complicated. Why, do you play both teams?"

Arthur snorted. "No."

Of course he didn't, Eames thought. He wasn't even sure why he'd asked—

"I mean, I'm not against being with girls, but I was never really interested in one," Arthur said.

Eames swallowed his beer to keep from doing a literal spit take. "You're a poofter?"

"A what? That's a funny word."

"You're _gay_?"

"Yeah," Arthur blinked, looking at him like he was an idiot. "I thought you knew."

"I… what? No, I didn't know! I mean—you—you kissed Ariadne! She told me so!"

"I was screwing with her. I thought it was funny," Arthur said, blinking. "I mean, yeah, Ariadne's adorable and all that but I was never interested in her sexually. I thought I'd make sure because my parents always told me that I just needed to kiss a girl and I'd be cured or whatever—and yeah that's bullshit, but she said she didn't feel any kind of spark either."

"I just… you're gay?"

Arthur narrowed Eames with a glare that looked more like the Arthur he'd been used to. "Are you always this articulate when you're stoned? Yeah, I'm gay. I thought it was obvious…" He looked down at his lap and ruffled his own hair, suddenly embarrassed. "It doesn't make any difference… I'm going to get some Cheetos."

Apparently, Arthur was done talking about it because when he got back to the couch with the cheese puffs, he didn't mention it again, instead choosing to explain the differences between the Japanese and English versions of _Dragonball Z_.

"Okay, so," Eames said, gesturing to the screen. "That little boy just turned into a giant monkey. What the fuck?"

"It's because of the tail," Arthur explained, digging his hand into the bag and cramming more of the treat into his mouth. "See, his dad is an alien, like they said earlier, and on their home planet, they would use the light of the full moon to turn into giant apes. It only works if you have a tail though."

"…and why is that exactly?"

"Why what?"

"Why does it only work if you have a tail? What does the tail have to do with anything?"

"Fuck, I don't know. It's cool. You don't have to have the answers to everything. I'm sure someone online has come up with some kind of response."

Eames smiled, lounging and throwing his feet up onto the coffee table. "Normally _you're_ the one who wants to know all of the answers."

"When it is relevant to work, yes, but believe it or not I don't know everything, nor do I have any interest in knowing everything. It takes all the excitement out of life."

He dug another handful of Cheetos out of the bag and swallowed them before crumpling up the empty bag and tossing it over the back of the couch to pick up later.

Eames managed to nudge himself a little closer without Arthur noticing. "What brings you excitement in life, exactly?" he asked.

"Well… lots of things. I mean, it's kind of a vague question. In what aspect did you mean? What answer are you looking for?"

"I'll forgive you for wanting a little specificity," Eames replied and Arthur grunted in annoyance at being teased. "May I go so far as to ask whether you prefer to be a top or a bottom?"

"I—what? Whoa, that's—what? No, that's none of your business!" Arthur stammered, blood rushing to his cheeks. "What's even up with that question? Why do you even want to know?"

"Well, if it makes any difference, I don't care either way," Eames shrugged. "I was just curious. I really didn't expect you to be a homosexual, what with Ariadne and all, but I guess that shows what I know."

Arthur grumbled. "You're fucking shameless. Jesus Christ…"

"You're right, I am shameless, and here I have been trying to be polite this whole time. What's wrong with me? I'm being ridiculous."

Arthur stared. "Polite? You called me a slob and you snooped through my things and you asked me inappropriate questions. What's you _not_ being polite?"

Eames grabbed Arthur by the wrist and sucked his cheese-coated fingers into his mouth.

Arthur didn't seem to have any kind of response to that, unable to do anything other than gawk foolishly.

Eames pulled his mouth off of the digits and smiled playfully. "I assume eating off of your fingers is impolite, at least without asking, correct?"

"I… guess…" Arthur said slowly. "It would have been less impolite without the slurping and sex eyes. Are you that much of a horn dog?"

"I was trying to show you how impolite I can be. You challenged me. Also, there are no sex eyes with me because my eyes always look like this."

"You forgot my thumb," Arthur said, and he was almost pouting as he thrust the digit towards Eames's lips, almost daring him to do it. "If you're going to take the cheese off my fingers so I don't get to, you might as well get all of it."

"Well, since you asked," Eames said and took Arthur's thumb in between his lips, scraping his bottom teeth along the pad before letting it go.

Arthur wiped his spit-slicked fingers on his t-shirt, smirking a little. "I don't care what you say. You were giving me sex eyes."

"Sometimes I can't help myself. After all, I discovered tonight that I actually stood a chance."

Eames expected Arthur to give him a deer-in-the-headlights look, to gape, possibly to send him out, but Arthur had been full of surprises all evening and this was not an exception. "Well, I've only been trying to get you to make a move since you got here," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"…what?"

Arthur snorted. "Your forging abilities have been put to shame again, Mr. Eames. I mean, come on… the talking about loneliness, the losing of my clothes, the pretending not to notice how close you've been getting… I mean, seriously, Eames, why else would I have even gone to get you from the airport in the middle of the night without any warning?"

"I thought it had something to do with my attempts to charm you by reminding you that you were much better at helping people disappear off the radar than I am and that I saved your life in Barcelona."

"Of course I made you convince me," Arthur replied with a grin. "I didn't want to sound too easy. As soon as I saw it was you on my phone, I decided to make the jump. I wish I'd been able to clean up first, but not every plan is perfect."

"I like your dirt," Eames replied, leaning forward so his nose was brushing against Arthur's nose. "Your little plan might not have worked had you played all prim and proper like you are at work."

"So, what, it's actually working now?" Arthur asked. "You're attracted to slovenly, stoner me?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," Eames replied and leaned in to kiss him.

Arthur tasted like cheese, marijuana, and cheap beer, and it wasn't the best tasting kiss he'd ever had, but Eames wasn't one to complain after the other man had gone to so much trouble. Arthur kissed somewhat lazily because of the drug, but Eames didn't mind, perfectly content with taking it slow because he was high also.

…or, at least he was for a few minutes… but thankfully, Arthur seemed interested in speeding things up too because he moved to sit in Eames's lap, pressing his half-hard prick against Eames's abdomen.

"You're not at all what I thought you were," Eames whispered against Arthur's mouth.

"I think you already made that quite clear, Mr. Eames." Arthur kissed him again.

"Do tell me more, darling—What else don't I know?"

"In high school," Arthur said between kisses, "my favorite band was Metallica."

"Oh, really?"

Arthur started unbuttoning Eames's shirt. "I had long hair and performed in a tribute band at the prom, got suspended for mooning the audience."

"Was it worth it?" Eames asked, shucking off his shirt as Arthur kissed down his chest.

"Got laid that night," Arthur shrugged, unbuckling Eames's belt.

"So, it was kind of like tonight then," Eames replied and shoved Arthur down onto his back. Arthur wriggled out of his pants while Eames covered him in kisses.

"Kind of—Oh, my God," Arthur snickered, and Eames rose to sit on his knees, pants hanging against the lower part of his thighs.

"What?"

"Your boxer shorts have frogs on them?" Arthur asked, biting down on his bottom lip. "How old are you?"

"You were the one watching cartoons and talking about Batman and Superman. Coincidentally, I also have Batman ones. Also, you're far too cute when you're making fun of me. It's really unfair."

Arthur grabbed Eames's shoulders and pulled him back down, licking his way back into his mouth, and Eames really couldn't complain anymore (not that he was complaining in the first place).

Eames kicked off his trousers, only vaguely aware of them as they crumpled to the floor. He pressed his thumbs to Arthur's cheekbones, stroking back to his ears gently while pushing his body flush with him. Arthur made a small sound, wrapping a leg around Eames's waist.

"You're so eager," Eames teased.

"It's been a while," Arthur replied, tilting his head back to let Eames nibble at his throat while he palmed him through his powder blue shorts.

"How long is a while?" Eames asked.

"I don't know… like… eleven months?"

"You poor thing."

"Get on with it!"

"Top or bottom, love?" Eames asked, and Arthur whined in protest.

"Do you have any supplies?"

"No… I didn't really think to pack it when I was running away from crazed gunmen. Do you?"

"No."

"Well, I'll just have to give you a bloody good blow job," he said, and before Arthur could say anything else, he tugged down his elastic waistband and took him into his mouth.

"Oh, _hell_ yes," Arthur hissed, arching upwards, pushing himself deeper down Eames's throat.

Eames grabbed Arthur by the hips and forced them down to manage not to choke. He laved around the head of Arthur's cock, tasting Arthur's leaking pre-come, and dove back down, and Arthur growled low in his throat.

 _Oh, you like that, don't you_ , Eames thought as he looked up at Arthur through his lashes. Sweat had beaded on the point man's forehead, sliding down his temple. There were stray hairs curled around his ears and plastered to his forehead, and Eames had to hold back on making an embarrassing noise as he palmed himself through his boxer shorts (he really wished he had worn the Batman ones—Arthur would have respected him more in the Batman ones).

" _Eames_ ," Arthur breathed, voice hitching a little as his fingers scrambled into Eames's hair.

Eames bobbed downward a few more times, hollowing out his cheeks, feeling his own orgasm already building, and that was when Arthur let out a throaty yell and spilled down Eames's throat in hot, wet spurts. The heel of his foot dug into Eames's waist but he barely felt it because he was coming too, turning his shorts into a sticky mess.

When Eames pulled away, gasping for air, Arthur was sprawled there on the couch in about the same wrecked condition… and he had the most blissful smile on his face.

"Awesome," Arthur sighed as Eames tugged his shorts back up for him.

"What is it with you Americans and the word _awesome_ anyway?" Eames sighed, grabbing Arthur by the wrists and tugging him forward until he fell, pressing his chest to Eames's.

"I don't know… stuff's just… _awesome_ … It works," Arthur mumbled into Eames's chest hair, arm hanging limp over the side of the couch where his fingers just barely hovered above the floor. "Aren't your shorts uncomfortable?"

"I'm fine," Eames replied with a content smile, folding one arm behind his head. "I'll change them in a bit."

"We can play Call of Duty if you want," Arthur said, and his voice was sleepy and blissed out. "I will kick your ass at Call of Duty."

Eames ran a hand through Arthur's greasy hair before letting it fall to the floor. "We can do that, yeah," he said, but Arthur was already drifting off to sleep with Eames not far behind.

Eames was only startled out of his haze of oncoming dreams when Arthur started to snore obnoxiously, and Eames swore it was the cutest thing he'd ever heard because Arthur just never seemed to run out of surprises.

"Bloody hell, you're going to make me fall in love with you," Eames said, and Arthur nuzzled his cheek against Eames's skin as if he knew he'd said it.

Eames woke up with a crick in his neck the next morning and with nasty shorts, they had McDonald's for breakfast, Arthur beat him at Call of Duty complete with a five minute victory dance and far too many "in your face" comments, and somehow it still ended up in sex (on the floor no less and with Arthur still wearing his microphone headset). They managed to clean up the apartment somewhat, but it turned out that Arthur was a lazier cleaner than Eames would have expected, perfectly content with cramming things under low tables or under the couch or into the broom closet that was already brimming with stuff. They smoked more weed and ordered another pizza (Arthur ate most of it; really the boy was like a black hole). That also ended in sex, but that time they actually made it to Arthur's bedroom which was remarkably cleaner than the rest of the house but still confusing in that the walls were plastered with posters of metal bands.

They fucked three times and Arthur fell asleep, and Eames sat up, smoking a cigarette and thinking with absolute wonder how Arthur had made him fall in love ( _in one night_ no less).

He wasn't disappointed with the result.

He'd almost venture to say that it was awesome.


End file.
